


Learn Or Die

by WearyBlues



Series: Billy and Goodnight One-Shots [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Canon, M/M, One-Shot, Pre-Movie(s), Slurs, just dudes being bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WearyBlues/pseuds/WearyBlues
Summary: Billy's english is quick and polished, as are his guns.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing these short little blurbs because I have a short attention span and I love these two. Enjoy!

Billy isn’t from China. He doesn’t speak Chinese, but he can’t speak english either, so it doesn’t seem to matter.

It sure as hell doesn’t matter to the unwashed, liquor-stupid gunslingers when they place their bets and jeer and the “chinaman”. It doesn’t matter when he blows a perfect hole through a man’s chest and it is all quiet for just a moment. And it doesn’t matter when he goes back to his room that night, and spends hours tracing the cracks in the ceiling.

Billy isn’t from China and he doesn’t like guns. So he adapts. He doesn’t learn Chinese, but he does learn guns.

-

Billy has lived through 53 matches. He’s been through California, Arizona, and Texas, but the smoke always tastes the same. Between the matches, Billy learned a lot about the white man’s world. His english is quick and polished now, as are his guns. 

Billy’s on his way to drunk in a bar near the border when he meets Goodnight. Every other man had steered around his table, sometimes sneering drunkenly at him, but Goodnight swaggers up carelessly. He’s toting two shots of whiskey and smiling at Billy like he’s the best damn thing he’s seen today.

Billy doesn’t move, but watches Goodnight intently. The man sits down, sliding one of the glasses toward Billy, then reaches his hand out.

“I’m Goodnight Robicheaux, from the fair city of Baton Rouge. Who might you be?” 

Billy doesn’t respond for a few beats, but it doesn’t seem to bother Goodnight. His hand stays, hovering over the table. Carefully, Billy shakes it. 

“Billy Rocks.” 

That makes the man, Goodnight, laugh. “You don’t look like a Billy.”

“You couldn’t pronounce my real name.” Billy glares at the man lightly, wrapping calloused fingers around the glass of whiskey. Goodnight watches him as he drinks it. 

“That’s probably true.” Goodnight smiles faintly, then shifts in his seat. “But I saw your match today.”

_Then stay the hell away._

Billy doesn’t respond. 

Goodnight fills in the silence easily. “I’ve never seen a man’s hands move so fast, quicker than the bullet itself.” 

Billy doesn’t preen, he doesn’t, but it’s not often anyone looks him in the eye, much less compliments him. 

“Though, I was a little surprised that someone who hands pistols the way you do would seem so put off by them.” Billy stiffens and Goodnight is quick to continue.

“I mean no offense of course, simply that you might find pleasure in trying something different.” Even as the man’s eyes crinkle in a good natured smile, the light from the saloon’s lamps throw shadows under his eyes, making him seem almost skeletal. 

For once, Billy doesn’t hesitate. 

“What would you suggest?”

-

So, Billy learns knives. Goodnight says they are as sharp and mean as he is, and Billy is surprised when he finds himself laughing. 

Often, they train together, get drunk, and kick up dust bouncing town to town. Goodnight is a heavy drinker, but so is he, and it is more fun to drink together. 

Goodnight, Billy learns, is French on his mom’s side, went to college, and can spit 4 yards without breaking a sweat. So Billy tells him about his sisters, a tree he swears used to talk to him when he was child, and the darkness of the sea. 

Mostly, they talk about the bizarre-looking people they’d seen during their travels. Billy would nearly double over in laughter as Goodnight illustrated a man’s far-overgrown and seemingly frightened eyebrows, waggling his fingers on his forehead and looking most disapproving. 

In turn, Billy would stretch his mouth out with his fingers to mimic another man’s wide, fish-like mouth.

So they went on like that, Goodnight placing bets on Billy’s lightning-fast hands, then splitting the money for liquor and good food. They would drink and laugh, heads pitched close together and mouths slick with whiskey. 

Billy felt a comfort that had not been present for a long time. A family, a home that moved with him. Goodnight was trouble, but so was he. 

Some nights, they still laugh themselves sick.


End file.
